Rising From Ashes: Empire of Blood Book Three (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) by Wilson Robert S

Author:Wilson, Robert S. [Wilson, Robert S.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Empire of Blood Books
Published: 2015-12-08T05:00:00+00:00

***

She'd been watching this one for weeks now. He was the one. She was certain. He had pulled the trigger. Alexandria held her breath as she hid in the shadows of the alleyway. She'd followed him tonight to his apartment near downtown, watched as he went in the building and watched as the light of his bedroom switched on, and now she watched as he disrobed for his shower.

She felt nothing but cold calculated hatred as she, for the first time in her young adult life, watched a grown man undress. All she could think of was how she wanted nothing more but to cut him deep from one end to the other. To replace the smile on his face with a smile etched in flesh and blood.

She'd left the boys alone at home. So long as they stayed asleep—which they would, they both slept like rocks—they would be fine. It didn't for once alarm her to consider them sleeping in the house alone.

Besides... she only had eyes for Murdoch. Jesse Murdoch, Imperial Guardsman. A lowly bird on the totem pole, but that didn't matter much to her. He became her number one target when he replaced her father's head with a bullet.

Alexandria slipped out of the cool expanse of shadow surrounding her form and made her way toward the front of the building. Quietly, she jogged up the stairs she had watched him take only moments before. Something about the way the wind blew through her hair gave her confidence and the anticipation of what she would do when she stood face to face with that motherfucker was becoming cathartic. He would taste his own blood before the night was over. She would make him taste it. It would be the last thing he would ever do. Her pulse quickened at the thought. A mixture of fear and hatred and revulsion with... herself, maybe? Everything was so jumbled up inside her head these days. Not a single feeling could just be simple anymore. Everything had to have attachments to something else.

Imperial gospel music bullshit seeped out into the empty air surrounding the metal stairway from some nearby unseen open window or door perhaps. The words, "Glory to Caesar," twisted into her gut like a knife, but she let them fade to the background with the rest of the fury continually building inside her. The echoes of her steps rang hollow but swiftly with each passing floor. Just two more to go. She was almost there. The tightening of her guts was a new kind of nausea she'd never known possible. She didn't feel like she would throw up so much as she felt like her stomach would keep twisting and twisting until it strangled itself to death, taking her out in the process. The sound of nearby voices on the next floor above sent her nearly reeling into her shins. She didn't want to be seen here. If someone remembered even a glimpse of her after what she was about to do, she'd end up on a Nightly Broadcast before you could say v-a-m-p-i-r-e-s d-r-o-o-l.

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